The Cursor Blinks

It flashes off and on, off and on. Some days an enticement to spill my guts for the world to read, other days pushing me to turn off the computer and move on to other chores. But today …

my mind reels with blankness.

The white page piles up, floods into my lap, screaming with silence, the thin black line pulsing louder and louder. My fingers hover on the keys, twitching, waiting for the thoughts. But …

my mind reels with blankness.

The words nestle between the wrinkles of grey matter, warm, safe, comforted where no one can hear or expose or judge or use or praise or criticize. The parade of onlookers cheer in anticipation. But …

my mind reels with blankness.

Emotions fold into crisp lines like an origami swan, its mirrored pool reflecting nothing but another face of solid white paper floating, bobbing like the cursor answering the question I didn’t want to ask.



2 thoughts on “The Cursor Blinks

  1. I think this piece really captures what it feels like to have writer’s block in an eloquent, neat way. This may not be the correct phrasing, but I also feel that your piece has a . . . subtext, of sorts, about how a writer may not want to admit they can’t think of anything to say, and it’s kind of frustrating and scary.

    • Thanks! It is about writer’s block … and I love your take on the subtext of this. I always write from personal perspective but I try to mute it enough that it will relate to anyone who reads it so I love hearing what other people think and what they see in my pieces. 🙂

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